


Waiting

by mimie_puddleduck



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Reincarnation, Romance, eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-09
Updated: 2013-09-17
Packaged: 2017-11-24 07:37:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/632006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mimie_puddleduck/pseuds/mimie_puddleduck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set from season six until Arthur rising again. Merlin coping with eternity, and Arthur experiencing death. New friends are found, and old ones lost, mistakes are made and rectified. And then, Arthur returns to Merlin.<br/>Travelling forwards through history. <br/>It all goes down.<br/>Etc.   :P</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Other Side

**Author's Note:**

> A/N - First Instalment guys! :D
> 
> SPOILERS FOR ALL OF MERLIN.  
> IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN, GO SEE.
> 
> This fic is my take on the events of series six, and Merlin's life until Arthur rises again, and they are reunited.  
> Takes place straight after the last episode of season five.
> 
> POV - Arthur, then switches to Merlin.
> 
> Reviews are ALWAYS appreciated greatly :)
> 
> Disclaimer- I do not own the BBC's Merlin in ANY shape or form, and I'm not taking ANY profit from this. It's for my own entertainment.
> 
> ENJOY

He frowned blearily, blinking. He was sure that he wasn't here before. But... he? He didn't know anymore - it was all so confusing. White fog curled all around him, impenetrable and impossible. Did it matter where he was? He couldn't remember. "Hello?" He called. He reached for his sword and rested his hand on the hilt and turned around slowly.  
"Arthur Pendragon." A face appeared in the mist, followed by a body. It was smiling slightly. No, she. She was. And he was Arthur Pendragon.

"Who are you?" Arthur asked, frowning. Had he seen her before? He couldn't really remember. Her dark eyes shone and her pale arms floated down to her sides. She wore a dress the colour of passion, and she was beautiful.  
"Do you not know me?"

Arthur frowned. "I...I don't know."

"You didn't know me before. It's not too late. My name is Freya."  
She studied him curiously and tilted her head. "Do you remember?"

"What is there to remember?" He racked his brains, bewildered as she laughed softly.

"You're a riddle, Pendragon."

"Am I?" He remembered saying that to someone before. Worlds ago, where the grass smelt fresh and the sun scorched his skin. His eyes widened. "Merlin! I..."  
She shot him a searching gaze.

"It is returning to you?"

He sank to the floor and put his head in his hands. He was dimly surprised to find her join him. "I... I can't..."

"You see him, don't you. In the fog."

"What?"

"No? You will learn to. But first."

Suddenly they were standing upright, and she held his sword.  
"I'm going to need that," he heard himself say.

"Yes, you are."

"Then... Can I have it back?"

"You need to get it yourself. You need to understand."

Her voice changed, into more husky and mellow tones, and she closed her eyes. "No. I'm afraid he must figure this out for his own, sorry."

Arthur frowned. "I don't understand."

"Where are we?"

Arthur was taken back by that question. "Well, of course, we're..."

She raised her eyebrows. "Yes?"

"I...I don't know."

"Think. You will need this sword, but to get it, you have to know where you are."

"I was with Merlin, and he was crying..."

"No. He is crying Arthur."

"Is he?"

"Why is he crying?"

"Because... Because I got stabbed? Because he's... He's a sorcerer."

She smiled. "He is the sorcerer, the immortal, Emrys."

"Merlin will live forever?"  
For some reason that thought saddened him greatly. Why was that so sad? Because... Because... Because he was dead.  
"I'm dead, aren't I."

"You caught on quickly. Far more than most. Everyone dies, and everyone comes here eventually."

"But not Merlin?" Did that mean that he would never see him again?

"Even Merlin," she corrected gently.

He paused. "Can I have my sword now please?"

"Where are you?"

".. Dead."

"But where?"

"We were by a lake, the lake of... Avalon." His eyes widened.

"Yes. And I am the lady of that lake. Your sword is yours, Arthur Pendragon. Catch it."

"What?"

The scene shifted, and the fog turned to grey, that shook his senses and woke him up. Catch it, she had said. He looked upwards and stretched his arms up, kicking through they grey. He dimly recognised it as water, but it had lost it's substance. It was no more water than air, and he breathed it in freely. He struggled and kicked, he needed his sword. He needed it in his hand. And then the water cleared, and he looked up into Merlin's hollow eyes, as he looked down at the sword in his hand and threw it with a cry. From here, Arthur could see the vibrant magic rippling from him. He was powerful. At the last moment, he shot up and caught the hilt tightly, then sank back down into the fog. Merlin didn't fade immediately, and Arthur saw him sit down and stare in front of him.

Without fully realising it, he was there, crouching down right next to him. "Are you alright?" He asked gently. As he got no reply, he ruffled his hair slightly as stood up, sighing. It would be hard for them all. The fog enveloped Merlin, and Arthur was left alone.

 

*******************************************************************************************************************************************************************

He remained by the water's edge. Night fell and the moon shone brightly. His mind reeled and his body grew numb. His eyes remained dry – he had no tears left to give. As a small child he wept if he fell over in the woods, while running away from an imaginary beast that thundered through the trees, disguised in the shadows. He would run all the way home, and his mother would open her mouth to give him a gentle scolding for staying out so late but would notice the small cuts on his face and limbs, and instead open her arms to his small form as he wept, and secretly enjoyed the comfort that she provided, the warmth that filled the tiny house. His cuts and bruises were quickly forgotten.

Not now. The monster had caught him, and torn his body to shreds, and all the while he was stuck in its grasp; he could feel its long fingers wrapped around his torso, squeezing him until it hurt. His heart ached, and nobody was there to slay the beast. Were the creature real, Arthur would have surely slain it, then stood there proudly, looking at Merlin. His face would be worried, and then a grin would split across it. But his greatest friend couldn't help now, there were no arms open to him. Not yet. One day.

So he wrapped his arms around himself, folding his knees up to his chin. He waited. The tiny part of him that was still thinking reasoned that the time of great need that was prophesied about wouldn't arrive in a matter of hours. He ignored that voice. Camelot may not be in a time of great need, but he was. He needed Arthur again. He needed the once and future king to remain as a constant. To sit with him, right there on the ground to his left. He could almost see him there. He lounged slightly, his legs outstretched and his hand subconsciously resting on the hilt of Excalibur. His blonde hair would shine in the moonlight as his bright eyes watched the dark and gentle ripples of the lake. And then, noticing Merlin's pain, he'd lean towards him slightly, clear his throat, and ask gruffly, "Merlin... Are you alright?" Oh to hear that voice again. He'd once thought it arrogant. He could hear him now, his first and last thank you swam above the lake surface, dipping and gliding through the grass. And just now, when Merlin was finally able to reply honestly, to tell Arthur what was really troubling him, Arthur was no longer there to ask him. He was completely alone, the night was clear and his breathing was sharp. He didn't like that – he didn't want to be able to hear himself. Because he was real, the cool breeze that ruffled his hair was still real.

"No," He thought, and tightly screwed his eyes up. His magic flared and the breeze ceased, his world fell completely silent. He didn't want this to be real. This couldn't be – this wasn't. So he waited in silence for his king to rise.

His neck jerked up and his eyes flew open. He sat up slowly, blinking his sore, dry eyes. Huh. It was morning. All but sight removed from him, he surveyed the scene. A pale grey sky, bright nonetheless. Several black birds flitted in the sky. The trees were still. Deeming it safe, he mended his hearing, and the harsh cries of the birds flooded his ears. That was good – that was surreal sounding. The world of the night was too beautiful for times such as this. It didn't belong. It was perfect, but his world was ruined. He should be feeling more pain than he was – Arthur deserved that much. He hadn't intended on falling asleep - it was careless of him. He made no attempt to move as his stomach growled loudly. He couldn't remember the last time he had eaten, but remembered dimly Gaius saying something about preparing his favourite meal for him when he returned. He wasn't sure that he wanted to return. He didn't really want to move at all. If he moved, then it would all break, and it would be real. He wanted to stay here forever. Arthur needed him.

His stomach tightened in hunger. Would he be much use to Arthur if he collapsed? Without really paying any attention he stood, and the picture shattered. He never took his eyes off the lake. The horses were gone and there was no food. He would have to find some. Reluctantly, he dragged himself away and wandered aimlessly through the trees. Never before had he felt so alone in the forest. Surrounded by trees that were closing in on him, their sparse branches jutting out menacingly. The pattern that they formed was unfathomable – nothing seemed to make any sense.

He found very little in the way of food, and although he didn't expressly try to, he didn't end up back at the lake. He could see it all too clearly imprinted right behind his eyes. Everything had happened so quickly, and now it was over. So he drifted though the forest, forging a path into the unknown. When the air grew cold, his magic kept him warm; fire exploded from the tips of the tree branches, like bright, inextinguishable blossoms. When he was tired, his magic gave him strength, gave him a dreamless sleep. And although food wasn't exactly in abundance, he was never so hungry that he could no longer walk. It was like he lived in a dream – senseless, void of purpose.

"Merlin!" Somebody was behind him, the leaves crunched under their feet. The voice registered dimly in the back of his mind, and he felt as large hand on his shoulder. It was too big to be Arthur's. He turned slowly, with dim eyes.

"Merlin, what happened? I came to warn you; Morgana, she-"

"She's dead, Percival."

Dead. That was a horrible word. So final.

"Dead? Are you sure?"

Even in his current state Merlin noticed the eagerness in the larger knight's voice.

"I killed her."

"Then-"

"I stabbed her, in the back, for what she did. I wrenched Arthur's sword into her body."

He could picture it – her lifeless form on the ground, her face covered by her black hair. He had started it, so he had finished it.

"All of Camelot's looking for you," Percival stated simply, with an unspoken question. "You and Arthur..."

He stopped in disbelief as Merlin visibly flinched.

"Oh. No." He sounded so tired, and so hopeless. "No, Merlin, tell me that's not true."

Merlin avoided his gaze and fought past the lump in his throat. He wished with all his might that it were not so. "Why... Why are you searching for us on your own?"

"I'm not. I wasn't." Percival sounded so small as he said that, and Merlin's insides writhed at the possibilities, each worse than the next. He couldn't face it – he was too drained. Too tired.

"Where's... Where did..."

"I sent him to rest in Avalon." Merlin's voice cracked a little. "I know that... Gwen... But I couldn't just..."

"I know."

They stood opposite each other, Merlin building up the courage to utter: "Who?"

Percival drew in a long and shaky breath. "Gwaine."

Merlin's face froze in disbelief. Not Gwaine. Gwaine's always there. He always makes it.

"Show me."

Percival led the way as they swiftly moved through the trees. They didn't talk much, only half muttered the questions that flooded their minds.

"How did... Where have you...?"

"He was wounded in battle." Merlin didn't mention Mordred's involvement – why make things harder for Percival? "I tried to take him to the island, where the old magic is strong, but... I... I couldn't get there in time. The blade was enchanted."

"He was betrayed, and he was angry. We sought out Morgana – it was foolish of us. Stupid. She knocked us out, and then... and then I heard him screaming, and..." Percival didn't continue, and Merlin didn't press him. Their wounds were so deep, so fresh that blood still flowed from them. It all felt so unreal.

Percival had buried Gwaine under a large oak tree, the only sign being the freshly dug earth and a large gouge in the bark. They knelt on the ground, in Merlin's case fell.

"I'll miss you Gwaine," Merlin whispered. Percival didn't speak – he had already said everything – but he didn't cry either. He just surveyed the grave as if he was almost surprised that it was there, as if he had no recollection of digging it, as if it contained the body of an enemy Saxon. Merlin could understand that – so many had died. It was easier to forget, and continue on with life as it should have been.

"How are we going to tell them?" Percival asked. Merlin thought about it. About Gwen, the widow queen. About the knights, deprived of a leader and a friend. About the people, who would surely blame him for the death of their king.

"What is there to say but the truth? I will not have them dying a lie. They sacrificed themselves for Camelot. We are all indebted to them."

Percival nodded firmly, and for a moment Merlin thought that he was going to break, but he retained his composure, keeping his mouth a thin, straight line, and swallowing heavily. He was set in stone, his features firm and determined. Merlin, however, felt as though he was floating away from the ground. Seeing another human again, especially one as strong as Percival, had reminded him. He was chained to the rock by his feet, and couldn't fly away.

It occurred briefly to Merlin that their surroundings would be causing Percival great pain as he relived the worst. He reminded himself that Percival, unlike him, had no assurance of Gwaine's resurrection, and that inside he could be hurting more than Merlin did. So they left, for Camelot, without a word.


	2. Blurred Days

Time was different here, even when Arthur had returned to himself completely. It's grip wasn't as strong as it was inconsequential. He discovered that there was little to do in Avalon, but didn't really mind. It gave him chance to think - it was funny when he thought about it. When he was alive, he was filled with worry, rushing around, fighting and reigning. Here he experienced none of that - he experienced time in its purest form. It unnerved him how death brought more peace to him than life did.

That wasn't to say that he didn't miss people, or worry about them. He thought of Camelot, of Gwen. They never got to say goodbye. And he thought of Merlin, who's face he caught glimpses of in the corner of his eye. Merlin the magician. He had meant what he had said, that he was grateful to Merlin. Magic wasn't wrong - he'd been blinded all of his life.

Freya returned with a swish of her dress, now a deep, smooth blue, and the flash of colour surprised Arthur. He had grown accustomed to the fog. He inclined his head respectfully - here it was her who held the power, not him. "Lady?" He asked subserviently. Humility didn't come naturally to him, and perhaps she noticed, for she smiled. "Relax, it is not I who seeks your presence."

"Are other people are here too?" He asked, scanning the fog. She looked taken aback.

"In all the history of the world, you are not the only person ever to have died, Arthur. That is why I am here - there is someone who wishes to see you. And you haven't exactly been making it easy for people to find you. When they come here, most think of those already here, not those still alive. Have you spared a moment to think of who is here besides yourself?"

"Then who...?"

His world changed, spun around him and he drew his sword in alarm. The shifting ceased, and he found himself in what appeared to be a forest, but yet not a forest at the same time. The trees reached up higher than the eye could see, and the bark was a dull blue colour. The ground was coated in silvery leaves, glinting like captured moonbeams. The faint smell of apples lingered in the air. Arthur had almost forgotten what it was like to smell. The overall effect was stunning, but a little unnerving, as a scaly creature of improbable proportions scuttled up a tree next to him. It wasn't real, it was all composed from the fog, and Arthur experimentally passed his hand through the tree closest to him, but at the same time, he was certain that he could lean against it if he wanted to. It was strange, the likes of which he had never seen.

"You have little imagination, Pendragon," Freya commented with a smirk, and vanished.

Arthur waited expectantly, nervously. Someone was waiting for him, right now, and he didn't have a clue who it was.

"I heard you'd arrived down here."

Arthur's blood ran cold, a sensation that he didn't expect to feel under his current circumstances.  
"Gwaine?" He drew in a tight breath. Gwaine had died? Gwaine was here? It didn't surprise him really. Everyone ended up here, and for all he knew years had passed back in Camelot. He spun around to see Gwaine's ever smiling face. There was something off about it, it appeared more forced than it usually was. Something was haunting him just behind the surface.

"News travels quickly, you see."

"Gwaine," Arthur confirmed.

"I expect you'll be wondering how I died Arthur. I died a traitor." He laughed abruptly; anyone who knew Gwaine knew that humour was the way he coped.

"What do you mean?" Arthur asked sharply. He was sick of trusting the wrong people, but surely not Gwaine? No, he didn't want to believe that. He couldn't believe that. - it was ridiculous.

"I told Morgana where you were headed. I did! I wasn't strong enough! In the end, I counted for nothing!" Gwaine was rarely this angry, and to see him this way startled Arthur. A new, hollow fire burned behind his eyes.

"I don't believe you," Arthur said shortly. Gwaine's eyes widened.  
"I mean, who had no motivation. Why would you do that? You aren't telling me the whole picture. You can't be."

"Are you sure about that?"

"If not, then why are you telling me?"  
Gwaine paused.  
"Gwaine. Tell me what happened."

He began hesitantly. "It was discovered that...Eira was a traitor, to Camelot. She was working for Morgana. She lied to me, she lied to everyone."  
Arthur felt a pang of empathy; of all people, Arthur knew what it felt like to be betrayed. It was like nothing you knew was true anymore, that your whole existence was crumbling. It was like the person died, because to you, they had. "Percival and I, we set out for Morgana. We knew where she was, we had sent her far away from you."  
Gwaine laughed again.

"Go on."

"We were foolish. Morgana over powered us and I woke up tied between two steaks of wood. She produced this box."

"What was in it?"

"Pain. She gave me pure, unaltered pain, the likes of which I've never felt before. It consumed me, I could think of nothing else but escape. She was true to her word, and let me go., But my wounds were deep. I failed you Arthur. I betrayed you. I am the reason that you are here."  
Silence fell, the undergrowth didn't stir.

"I would have ended here one way or another." Arthur swallowed loudly. When he thought about it, life on earth was really rather short and insignificant compared to the tides of eternity. All men die, and all are reunited shortly after. In less than a century, he would be reunited with Gwen. A century wasn't really that long compared to forever. He didn't think about Merlin.  
"Are you asking for forgiveness?"

"And if I am?"

Arthur smiled slightly; it was good to hear Gwaine speak, to hear a familiar voice. "Then I'd forgive you."

They stayed in the forest and talked. Gwaine talked of his family, his parents and their parents, all the way back until nobody knew who anyone was. They had met and drank and sang. Even in the afterlife intoxication was a possibility, and Arthur openly rolled his eyes. Some habits stick with you.

And then, in his journeys through the fog, meeting Gwaine's family, old knights and friends; seeing Elyan again, discovering the tale from Lancelot's perspective, he stumbled across somebody that made his heart skip a beat. He had dreamt for, longed for this moment all of his life. He couldn't remember her, but he had seen her a few times, when her image was being used against him. He had her hair.  
"Arthur," she cried, and they embraced, as if worn out after a lifetime of fighting. He had tried to apologise, after all, had he not been born she would have lived, but she would have none of it. "My only regret Arthur, is that I wasn't there for you at those times when you needed a mother. I saw you grow in the fog, I saw your face change and develop, but most of all I saw you inside, mature into a good and just King. I am proud of you, Arthur."

He had met his mother,, but he didn't go looking for his father just yet. He figured that Uther wouldn't drop his hatred of magic, and that made Arthur his enemy. Nor did he seek out Mordred. They had killed each other, and Arthur knew that the smile on Mordred's face when he sank to his knees would haunt him for years to come. Perhaps he had misjudged him. Perhaps Mordred regretted his decisions. His sister he did stumble across, exploring the maze of fog worlds that entwined and wrapped around each other. It disturbed him to see her that way, so he only watched from afar and departed without a word. Death had not been kind to her, she had subconsciously conjured an impenetrable cage from the dense black fog. The one that she had seen in life. It was never there, she had created what made her evil. To think that not all sorcerers fell like she did pained Arthur. He wasn't really sure why she had focused her hatred on him. He hasn't thought that he had committed any crimes against her. She was too far gone, the bars in her head too strong. She was a tragedy of her own design.

 

*************************

 

The city seemed different now. Even though they walked steadily nearer it, it seemed just as far away as it was. Even when they walked through the main entrance, stumbled down the busy streets. Nobody seemed to recognise them. Perhaps they didn't want to, perhaps it was the dirt that covered them completely. They had seen better days, and Merlin couldn't remember any worse. This place was empty, filled only with memory. The memory of the golden and crimson king, his two best friends. They still were, and without them he had nothing. He was nothing. He could picture them everywhere, all of the times that they had rode triumphant through those gates. All those battles, journeying to distant lands, it all seemed to pointless now. It was just building up to death.

Sooner than either of them would have liked, they approached the royal courtyard and were hesitantly dragging themselves up the white stone steps. The doors were open, as if they were expected. With one glance, the guards let them inside. Something about Merlin had changed; he wasn't himself and they recognised it. They were greeted by an anxious looking steward, who had great rings under his eyes. He raised his eyebrows slightly, and Merlin and Percival looked at each other. Gwen deserved to know now, through them. She was the sovereign now. "We need to talk to the Queen," Merlin told him. He looked faintly surprised that a servant, who was caked in grime, was asking him to do something, let alone brazenly entering through the main entrance.  
"Alone," Percival added firmly, and he nodded.  
"Certainly, certainly, follow me if you will." He led them through the familiar corridors and passages, and they needed it. Merlin felt that without him, they would surely wander off, or not remember their purpose. His chest tightened with apprehension as they neared the heart of the castle and the smaller throne room. He led them inside. "The Queen will be with you shortly," smartly spun around on his heels and left them alone. Something broke. Their shoulders sagged, and Percival heaved a sigh. Merlin leant against a pillar, his hand across his forehead. This wasn't happening. In a few moments the Queen of Camelot would be walking through those doors asking where her husband was. Merlin had no idea what he was going to say. How could he tell her? Would she ever forgive him? All too quickly the doors swung open, accompanied by the familiar footsteps of Gwen.

"Merlin!" She exclaimed. "Percival!"

"My lady," Percival muttered distantly. Merlin gathered up the courage and slowly turned around to face her. One glance at her tear stained face and she knew. She could tell.

"Where's Arthur?" She asked a little too sharply, shaking her head. Merlin couldn't find his voice. He was so sorry, sorry for everything, trying to believe that it never happened.

"He-" Merlin's voice caught in his throat, and he swallowed heavily, blinking.

"Merlin. Percival!" She pleaded. "Where is he?"  
Merlin closed his eyes.

"My lady, the King has fallen," Percival admitted. So few words and silence fell in the room. You could hear the bustling of servants just outside the walls.

"No. No no no, it can't be, I'd know!" Her breath hitched and she pressed her hands to her mouth, trying to blink back tears.

"He was wounded, and... I couldn't heal him in time." It was a poor excuse for the death of a king, and Merlin knew it. Gwen breathed in deeply, pressing one hand against her stomach.  
"I'm sorry," Merlin whispered faintly.

"Ooh... Merlin!" She threw her arms around him, and buried her head in his shoulder, ignoring the dirt. He looked at Percival with a hollow expression, before he returned the hug, gingerly at first, and then to maintain his strength, tightening his arms around her. Percival moved swiftly away, to the barracks, or to change into clean attire. It hadn't hit him yet, merlin could tell. It hadn't really registered with him. Gwen started to sob violently, breathing deeply, and babbling something that Merlin couldn't make out. He listlessly nodded his head, and numbly made soothing noises. They gradually sank to the floor, Gwen quieting a little, her throat no doubt aching and her eyes stinging. "But Merlin," She whispered, a long while after her crying subsided. "How did it happen?"

"He was stabbed, and... We couldn't reach the cure in time."

"Where is he?"

"His body is gone. Sent away."

"I...I..I don't-t-"

He shushed her gently, and then muttered, "Hours have past. You'll be wanting food."

"The people must know."

"How will you tell them?"

"I... I will call together a council meeting."

"Are you... Ready for that?"

She was silent for a while. "They need to know. Arrangements must be made."  
She had ignored his question, but Merlin could see her logic.

"Tomorrow," He suggested firmly. "It is dark outside, and late. In the morning... Things will be different." Through watery eyes she looked at him sadly. They both knew that wasn't true. Shakily, she rose, and slowly walked away. There were no more words. There was nothing left to say.  
Merlin watched her retreating figure, her blood red dress, the sinking feeling in his stomach still there. She had already visibly collected herself, her shoulders set and her head upright. She would be a strong leader.

Merlin would have sat there, leaning against a pillar all night, were it not for a loving pair of arms that guided him upright and led him through the castle, after a long hug.  
"Oh, my boy," Gaius sighed, as Merlin blinked, the tip of his nose quivering and his eyes watery.  
"You need some sleep. And a bath. Come, let's get you home."

The whispers hushed through the market place, caught on the still air. Frequent glances towards the black drapes that replaced the scarlet and hung from the castle. The king was dead, and the queen was to rule. That night they held a vigil, standing outside of the castle with their candles. He was a great king and a great loss. To them, that's all he was. Merlin saw them from the corridor outside Gaius's rooms. He stayed watching for a while, then turned and walked back to Gaius's rooms. It had been a night and a day since he had arrived back to Camelot, and he had spent it cooped up with a blanket, declared in need of recuperation by the royal physician himself. To appease him, he had forced a bowl or two of simple stew down his throat, but his stomach had shrunken after living like a wild man in the forests for a week. He didn't really feel like eating anything, or doing anything for that matter. He idly sat by, watching silently as Gaius bustled about his daily business as usual. Gaius had, after a few days, tried to coax Merlin into doing something, anything, helping him with his rounds, or treating that bout of fever that was sweeping through the eastern side of the lower citadel. Merlin would ignore him, muttering something about not feeling very well, or that he had work to do in the castle. Ha. Work in the castle. His employer was dead, he had nothing to do. The only upcoming event was Gwen's coronation in three days time. He would drag himself out of his blankets for that occasion, then hurry back and resume his state of half sleeping half awake.

Those three days arrived all to quickly, and as the sun rose blindingly bright through his bedroom window, he regretted making the mental decision to go. Gaius was determined to make him, and dragged the covers off of him before Merlin had the chance to feebly protest.  
"Come on! You're going to be late," he said firmly, and Merlin groaned, reminded of those early mornings starting days of cleaning armour and tidying Arthur's chambers. If Arthur needed him awake early, then he would get up early, and under no other circumstances. Despite his mumbling and muttering he dressed himself in his best clothes and was soon standing beside Gaius as Gwen was seated on the throne. Time passed so quickly now, he wasn't sure where the hours went.  
"Long live the Queen!" They cried, and Merlin forced himself to move his mouth, a half hearted deceleration issuing from his lips. Then the ceremony was over, and a low mumble of conversation had struck up between the guests. Merlin turned to leave, thinking only of the comfort of his bed. He couldn't afford to think of anything else.  
"Merlin!" He heard behind him. He pretended to ignore her. He couldn't face Gwen, not just yet. It was too soon, and it was his fault. She would surely blame him for all that had happened. He hurried back through the corridors, fell on his bed, and didn't move.

*******************************************************

"I'm worried about him," Gwen confessed frankly. She had brought Gaius to a secluded area of the castle, where the shadows were long, and the tall glass windows were coloured. Here, they would not be disturbed.

"As am I, my lady."

"I mean, I was surprised he was there today, I haven't seen him, apart from the coronation, in a week."

"He isn't coping well."

Gwen's eyes flashed. "It's difficult for all of us, Gaius! Does he suppose that it is not?! Yet we continue- we must! It's what he would-" she broke off, and closed her eyes briefly, sighing softly. "It's what he would have wanted."

"Merlin doesn't... Well, I don't know what he thinks. He blames himself."

"Has he told you what happened?"

"Not a word. But he will come around, my lady, given time."

"Will you have a word with him for me? Tell him that... He can always talk to me. No matter what happened. I can't believe that it was really his fault."

Gaius thought for a moment. "I will, my lady."

The dream faded to black, and Merlin woke with a start, feeling incredibly foolish.


	3. Little Talks

It was still dark, and he lay in his bed, breathing deeply and dwelling on his dream. It was real, it had literally just happened. He knew, he couldn't explain how. He just did. Gwen didn't blame him for what happened. And even if it was just a dream, the message was still there.

It struck him that he hadn't really thought about how she was coping. So much in her life had changed, she was preparing to become queen while he lay in his bed and moped, wasting the hours away. He remembered the days leading up to Arthur's coronation. He had been nervous, he had spent a night on his knees in preparation. Had Gwen done the same? He was surprised to find that he didn't know. But the power exchange was a difficult time, and she would surely be tested as a leader. Would she have to reforge treaties? Probably. Kingdoms could be fickle.

And Percival, perhaps the only person who might be going through the same hardships as Merlin. What had become of him? Had he done what Merlin couldn't and continued with life as if nothing had happened? Trying not to forget, but to move on? Incredible guilt washed over him, and just like that, he snapped out of his stupor. He was being selfish. And in the morning, he would make sure to visit Gwen and Percival. And apologise to Gaius; he can't have been easy to live with the past week or so. A new sense of purpose washed over him as he flung aside his blankets. He was still dressed from the coronation. He sighed, impatient with himself, and swiftly changed into his normal red shirt. A new spring in his step, he gladly flung open his bedroom door to come face to face with Gaius. They both stopped in surprise.

"What are you doing, coming back in at this time of day?" Merlin asked, slightly suspiciously.

"Merlin, it's only early evening."

Oh. Had he just slept through the day?

"And might I add that I'm pleased to see you up. If you ever need to talk..."

"I know, I know, I've got you and Gwen." Merlin walked around the room, in search of his jacket and something to eat.

"What? How did you know-?"

Merlin shrugged his jacket on and smiled slightly. "Magic," He said teasingly, then slowed down his movements.  
"And Gaius...I'm sorry. For the past few days... For everything."  
Merlin grabbed a small loaf of bread and shot through the door, leaving Gaius speechless.

Once outside, the rush of enthusiasm and renewal left him, and he placed a hand on the wall to steady himself. He was trying to live two extremes. Firstly, he wallowed in despair, and now he was trying to forget completely what happened. Neither of them were possible to maintain. He needed to find a balance. He needed to go back. A part of him was alarmed, and a bigger part of him was terrified of facing what had happened. He told himself that he wouldn't stay long. He just needed to clear his head.

Like the wind he rode, his eyes blazing gold in the forest as the horse sped along at impossible speeds. He wanted to arrive before he changed his mind, and he did. The sight struck him to his core, and he numbly dismounted, staggering forward on trembling legs. It hadn't changed one bit. The night bathed it in a silvery blue glow, the water rippled gently and the long grass swayed rhythmically. The trees rustled, the leaves tinged with orange. He realised that it was beautiful. A perfect resting place. Despite himself, he smiled gently, ignoring the dull throbs of pain inside of him.

"Hello Arthur," He whispered.

*******************************************************

He was lounging in his mother's gardens, not really bothered with anything. Nothing was happening, and he was contented. Egraine had constructed beautiful, formal lawns and flowers, and trees, quite unlike the exciting chaos that Gwaine spent his time in. Arthur hadn't created anything from the fog. It seemed wrong to do so without Merlin or Gwen there with him.  
His great great great grandfather smirked at him from his perch in the tree tops. For a man who was several hundred years old he was looking good. He was whittling something from the wood.

"What are you doing?" Asked Egraine, who sat a little distance away, idly fashioning a bird from a chain of small, bright flowers.

"You should be asking your son here. Boy, what do you do?"

Arthur sat upright slowly, and winced. "I'm not very... Creative," He admitted. As a Prince and a King he didn't need to be.

"Well, you must do something, Arden."

"Arthur," his mother corrected, not taking her eyes off her work.

"When I was alive I fought. Hunted. Ruled. There wasn't much time for... Carving."

The elder man grunted, and swung down from his perch to beside Arthur. "You are young, full of energy. You should go and do something."

"I've just been introduced personally to all 572 members of Gwaine's immediate family, I need a break. Besides, we're all the same age here!" Arthur protested, and Egraine laughed.  
"No rest, even in-"

The gardens disappeared, and Arthur broke off, alarmed. He stood up, and looked around at the deserted white fog.

"Hello Arthur."

Stunned, Arthur concentrated as the familiar figure of his manservant loomed into view.  
"Merlin!" He exclaimed. "You're dead! How did...?"

Merlin remained silent, blinking heavily and looking out into the distance.  
"Hang on... Can you see me?" Arthur asked. There was no reply.

Merlin looked out across to the island, unsure of what to say.  
"The kingdom," He began, then shook his head.  
"Arthur, we miss you, but we're coping, everyone else better than me. But... It will take time." He started to ramble. "Arthur, I'm sorry, about everything. Sorry that I wasn't there for Gwen, sorry that I haven't seen Percival, sorry that I really have nothing to say because I was too busy lying in my bed and forgetting about everyone else. And sorry for... I could have stopped it! It's my fault, I knew it would happen!"

"You aren't making any sense," Arthur said sadly, as he watched Merlin disintegrate, knowing that nothing he could say or do would stop him.

Merlin's voice started to tremble. "I just don't know what to do."

Arthur threw his arms around him, even though he knew that Merlin wouldn't be able to feel it. Or even know. Maybe that was why he did it. He drew away, feeling slightly embarrassed at his display, and then ashamed at his embarrassment. Merlin was hurting.

"But I will try, Arthur. I will make up for your death, I won't let it be in vain. I will protect Camelot. In every way." A tear traced his cheek and dripped off his chin. "I don't know what happened to Kilgarragh. I don't want to bother him in his last."

Who was Kilgarragh?

"As for Aithusa... None of it was her fault. Not really."

"Merlin, you aren't making sense. Again."

Merlin sighed, his breathing more even.  
The burden was slightly less, talking about it had made it easier for him, although he knew that Arthur couldn't hear him. He smiled.  
"I don't know why I came here really. I knew it would hurt, but... I need to move on, even if I can never forget."  
The wind rustled through the trees.  
"I should be getting back. There will be other nights. Look, it's nearly light. They say the darkest hour is just before the dawn," He remembered. He didn't stay to watch the sun rise, but swung back up on his horse. He wasn't going to regress back. He was changing, improving.

As Merlin began to fade into the fog, Arthur closed his eyes. Everything was moving on without him; changing. And he was being left behind. He didn't return immediately to his mother's garden. He went to search for somebody who would understand.

**********************************************

Merlin arrived back at Camelot as the first golden rays hit the bright blue sky, after having urged his horse on at a break neck speed. The wind took his breath away and he found himself enjoying it. He made sure to slow down to a normal, non-magical speed, and besides, he had a feeling that the horse, although used to his magic by now, was getting tired. He'd been up all night and, unlike Merlin, awake all day. He eased the horse into the stables, and fed him an apple as an apology. He had faced what happened, and although the grief was still present he felt considerably lighter. Spilling his thoughts into the empty wilderness. He paused, the apple gone. Where to now, Gwen or Percival? Gwen. She deserved some answers.

While walking through the palace it occurred to him that he had absolutely no reason to see Gwen. He didn't even hold a position as a minor servant, a kitchen boy, a stable hand, a farmer hired by the Pendragons. He tried to ignore that fact as he knocked gently on the door to the royal chambers. Wait, he couldn't do this. This was the queen, and he was waking her up. But at the same time, it was just Gwen. Ugh, he didn't know where anything was anymore.

"Merlin?"

He spun around, Gwen was walking down the corridor towards him, her long green cloak fastened with a silver buckle. She had deep bags under her eyes, and her voice was strained. How had he not noticed before?

"Gwen." He frowned.

"I couldn't sleep," She explained tiredly, then pushed open the doors of her chambers. "Did you want to see me?"

Merlin couldn't blame her for being a bit cold towards him. He had been ignoring her completely. So he followed her into her chambers.

"Well?" She asked, and Merlin faltered slightly.

"I came to apologise," He admitted quietly, and her face softened greatly. She sighed.

"I didn't mean to appear angry Merlin. I just... It's been hard."

"Do... Do you want to know what happened?" Merlin offered, and she nodded, blinking back tears.

"Yes," She whispered.

So they sat at the table and talked. Merlin avoided any mention of his magic. Yes, it had been the time to tell Arthur, but he didn't know if he was ready to tell everyone straight after what had happened. Give it time.

He told her of arriving late at the battle, and how Arthur and Mordred stabbed each other, how Arthur had given Gaius his royal seal to send to her, how they had been looking for a cure but unable to find one, because Morgana had boasted about the enchanted blade shortly before Merlin killed her.

"I'm not proud about it," He admitted quietly, and she nodded.

"It had to be done."

"I sent him off to rest in the lake."

"Where did you find a boat?!"

"It was...ah...there already. Gwen, I'm not proud of what I did."

She looked at him compassionately. "Merlin, thank you for telling me all the same. You have done Camelot a great favour." She fell quiet, dwelling on Arthur's last moments. Merlin saw her lower lip tremble.

"Gwen... Are you okay? I mean, being the monarch can be testing at first."

She seemed glad at the change of subject. "I think I'm managing. My rule will not be so different. King Bayard of Mercia wants to reorganise the treaty that we signed, and Queen Annis is going to be here on an official visit before the week is out. And Queen Mithian-"

"Queen?!"

"Oh, you wouldn't know. Her father has been taken violently ill, and has abdicated in order to instruct his daughter while he still can."

"Three Queens," Merlin mused. "But I can't imagine that you'd be changing much in Camelot."

"There is one thing, although it may take time."

"Are you planning on having another castle built, because while it would provide work, the sheer cost-"  
She interrupted him, laughing at his exaggerated expressions. "I was thinking more... Magic."

Merlin froze. "What about it?" He asked cautiously.

"I want it legal to practise sorcery in Camelot."

Merlin laughed nervously. "Why do you think that? It would be impossible to convince the council to agree with you... And..."

"Not impossible. Just difficult, and I'd need an ally..."

Merlin stood up suddenly, his face flushed.  
"Err... I should be getting back to... Gaius, Gwen."

"Tell me if you come across someone suitable!" She called after him. She waited until the door was closed behind him and smiled. If Arthur had known about Merlin it's what he would have done. Things would work out. For him, she would make Camelot strong. She just needed Merlin to tell her of his own accord.

Outside in the corridor, Merlin was unsettled. Did Gwen know? Of course not, why now all of a sudden? But... What else could she have meant? He found himself automatically making his way to Gaius, like he used to whenever he had a problem. But his mentor wouldn't have told Gwen... Would he? Merlin didn't know anymore. His world was falling apart, and he was slipping with it as it crumbled under his feet.

Gaius was well awake, pottering around his quarters and stuffing small glass bottles into his medicine bag.  
"Ah, Merlin, good, there are some treatements I want you to take to-"

"Gwen knows."

Gaius straightened and sighed slowly. "Yes."

"Did you tell her?"

"She guessed."

Merlin stumbled forwards in disbelief. "And that's it? Just like that she accepted and now she wants to lift the ban off magic?!"

"Merlin, she is level headed and has known you now for quite some time."

"But... As easy as that?"

"I understand why you struggle to believe it after what you've been through but, just this once, be grateful that it is what it seems. She isn't one to let innocents die merely for practising magic." Gaius smiled, and Merlin laughed giddily.  
"Don't you think that you've waited long enough, my boy? I'm afraid that you will have to wait a little longer for the kingdom to regain stability and to trust her as a ruler, but-"

"Gaius! This is brilliant!" Merlin laughed again, unsure of what to say. This was completely unexpected, and had taken him by surprise. He had dreamed of this time for so long, or a time where he no longer had to live in fear. And now it was finally happening. All those who sacrificed themselves... It wasn't in vain. "Now... What was it you wanted me to do?"

"My rounds for me, in the lower town. There are various meetings here that require my attendance, and those medicines need to be delivered. I've compiled a list of who has what illness, and I've packed some Hebrian and Sticklewart just in case."

Something unspoken passed between them, a baton of responsibility. Merlin was completely competent at the job of a physician, and Gaius was recognising that.

It was mostly just the normal culprits, the elderly and the young. Potions for back ache and neck ache and all types of aches. And then pastes for young children, to prevent colds and simple fevers. And a nutrient substitute liquid. A lot of the poorer people in the lower town didn't always have enough to eat. So Gaius had devised a method of over coming this, by creating a simple mixture, crammed with whatever he put in it. They all received this once a week and, on spotting him, collectively ran out to greet him, laughing, dancing around him as he handed out a small vial to each outstretched hand. By this point, they were all fairly familiar with him, he frequently accompanied Gaius. Now they would see a great deal more of him. He had nothing else to do.

"Where's Gaius?" A few of them asked, their bare feet pattering on the cobbled stone floor.

"He's busy up at the castle," He explained, smiling at their incessant chatter. They then remembered that Merlin worked at the castle, and proceeded to ask a string of questions.

"What's it like?"

"Does the queen really have a pet dragon?"

"Are the floors made from gold?"

"Do you wave the flags?"

"Who does wave the flags?"

"The wind," He informed them, trying to escape the throng and succeeding. They seemed disappointed that he couldn't stay for longer and play with him, but followed him for a little way, giggling inconspicuously. By the time he had reached the castle, they had abandoned their task, and Merlin paused, to look around, making sure that he wouldn't accidentally be leading a gang of grubby children into the castle. The barracks were to his right, and he remembered Percival, how he had heard Gwaine screaming, and then set out to find and warn Arthur. He tightened his grip on the strap of his bag and, after making a split decision, walked inside.

A few knights were wandering the narrow corridors, with dirty armour and smelling of sweat. "Do you know where Percival is?" Merlin asked, and they shook their heads sadly, offering to tell Percival that Merlin was looking for them when they next saw him. He wasn't in his room, or the changing rooms, or the armoury. Oh well, Merlin had tried. He slowly walked back to the castle, with the intent of going to Gwen. Gaius had craftily added her name at the bottom of the list, with a sleeping draught. Apparently he too noticed the bags under her eyes, but Merlin suspected a more devious motive. After this morning, and the talk about magic, what was Merlin going to say? What would Gwen say?

She was leaving her rooms purposefully, and Merlin saw her from the end of the corridor. Then, everything seemed to slow down, and she stumbled, swaying slightly. Then, as if she had no care in the world, she gracefully sank to the floor.

"GWEN!"


	4. Red and Black

Merlin ran, his medicine bag bumping against his leg.  
"Gwen!" He shouted. Her knees hit the floor first, the rest of her body swaying and then falling sideways. her arm cushioned her heat from the hard stone floor. She seemed to be stirring as he fell to his knees beside her and shook her gently. Her eyes rolled, and then focused. "Oh," she said simply, and tried to get up.

"Gwen, lie down, you might have banged your head. What happened?!"  
Merlin ran his fingers through her hair, carefully feeling her scalp. No sign of blood, and no bumps. She should be fine.

"I... I don't know, I just felt faint all of a sudden."

"Gwen, I'm going to take you to Gaius, I want him to check you, to make sure that you are fine. People don't just collapse."

"But Bayard..." She protested weakly, seeming to forget that she was in fact, the monarch, and didn't have to obey Merlin

"Bayard can wait. Now, do you think you'll be able to stand?"

He gingerly helped her up as she mumbled something about being completely capable. He ignored her. "Where is your maid servant anyway?" He asked suddenly, as he made sure that Gwen was balanced.

"Merlin, I can walk," She said, sounding slightly annoyed.

Merlin bit his lip, not wanting to contradict her, but keeping his arms ready to catch her if she fell. However, she did seem to be fine, and she made her way to Gaius's chambers with her head held high and her pace brisk.

"He might not be there, he had a meeting," Merlin remembered.

"The meeting was adjourned for lunch. Besides, we had pretty much covered everything that was urgent. Gaius should be there."

Oh. Merlin remembered suddenly what Gwen had said about magic.

"Was... Was magic discussed?" He asked quietly. Gwen smiled.

"No. No, it wasn't. I want to break it gently. Why, had you found an ally? A representative, to show that not all magic is bad?" She smirked.

"Gwen..."

They stopped, and Gwen looked up at him, feigning innocence. Merlin really hoped that his instinct was right, it usually was.

"I...I know you know."

"Know what?"

Merlin mumbled something, then looked up and down the corridor nervously.

"About my magic."

"Oh."

"I do. I have magic... And it still wasn't enough." He regretted blurting out that last part, and he started walking again, Gwen hastily following him.

"Merlin!" She called. "It's not your fault. What happened happened, we can't change it now. You tried, I know you did."

Did Gwen really mean that? she had nobody left in the world; her brother and husband dead by Morgana's hand. Perhaps magic SHOULD be banned. He shook his head, banishing those bitter thoughts. "I... " He smiled feebly and flung open to door.

"Gaius!" He called, dumping his bag on the table. The old man moved to Gwen, who was looking unsure of herself.

"Yes, m'lady?" He asked.

"Well, err, just now, I felt really faint, and... Merlin..."

Gaius offered her a seat and placed his hand on her forehead. "You haven't got a fever," he muttered. "Have you been feeling sick at all? Light headed? Shaky? Cold, hot?"

"I collapsed," She confirmed. "But I feel fine now. Merlin just thought that it would be best if I saw you."

"Ah, Merlin, fetch me some water will you?"

Merlin stopped leaning against the table, and hurried out, darting a look back over his shoulder. He closed the door, as Gwen explained how she was now feeling completely fine.

The castles water was stored in several large jars next to the kitchens, and it didn't take Merlin long to scoop some up with a small pail. Every morning the water was replenished, and it hadn't stagnated yet. He nearly ran back to Gaius's chambers, which were the complete other side of the castle, and burst through the door, startling the queen and her physician. Gwen appeared to be in a state of shock.

"And remember, although it is the most likely cause, at this stage it is only a probability."

Merlin dumped the pail on the work top, allowing a splash of water to overflow, splattering the wooden surface.

"I got your water," He said shortly, exasperated and amused at the sight of a cup in Gwen's hands, half filled with water. "You could have just asked me to leave. Is she okay?"

Gwen glanced at Gaius. "Well... Don't say anything, because we aren't yet certain, but... We think that I'm with child."

Merlin's mouth dropped open. No. Surely not! This was Gwen. Gwen, pregnant?! He was speechless. She was still a child, surely? He felt a little like a mother hen. 'Where has time gone?' He thought.

"I... Wow, congratulations!"

"Don't tell anybody just yet?"

"Trust me, I'm good at keeping secrets." He laughed again. It was all moving so quickly, it was surreal. First she knows about his magic, and now this! The child... It was the best that could possibly come from the worst. Then he remembered that Arthur would never be able to watch his heir grow, and the child would be without a father. Just like Merlin was. He was certain that Gwen was pregnant, his magic assured him of that much. He just knew, and the child would survive, grow, then lead. And, somehow, he would live to see it all. For someone who didn't consider themselves to be a seer, he could know a great deal about the future. But not everything.

The rest of the day seemed to flow, Gwen's child nearly forgotten by Merlin, who was sent to a village situated just outside of Camelot to help with an outbreak of Red Fever. King Bayard of Mercia had arrived that day, Queen Annis was expected in at least a few days time, and Queen Mithian would come only when her Father was dead. She wanted to remain with him until the end, which was in sight. Some people weren't as lucky. Remain until the end. Gwen didn't. And Merlin wouldn't wish that on anyone.

The Red Fever took a great deal of time. From the gibbering man that had arrived at the castle it was impossible to guess at the nature of the illness, and since Gaius, was usually the one to decipher the words of the distressed, Merlin took the medicine bag and followed the villager. It reminded him of Ealdor, villages like this always did, the small houses and dusty floor. He brushed aside all thoughts of his childhood and set his mind to the problem at hand. It was horrible, roughly every single family had at least one person who was affected, and several people had died. And, using Gaius's remedy, Merlin knew that only a fraction who had succumbed would survive. There was very little he could do, except isolate the patients, but as most of them were too ill to move, this was a near impossible task. He observed the burning of the dead, and then set about making the remedy; it only took a few minutes to mix, and closed his eyes before mentally reciting a spell that increased the potency. That would definitely help. He saw why the man who had came to see Gaius was so distraught, the village was dying. "They need plenty of water," He told the families. Men, women, elderly and young had fallen prey to the disease. As he held a small bawling baby, who was hot to touch, he snapped, and, placing his hands on the baby's forehead, and with his eyes closed so that nobody would be able to see them glow, urged the disease out of his system. Not completely, that would be too suspicious, but enough that the baby at least had a chance of survival. It wasn't as strong as everyone else with the Red Fever, it was only fair. Fair. This wasn't fair, none of it. He gently tipped some of the liquid into the baby's mouth, and then handed him back to his mother, who's face was tear stained. "What's his name?" Merlin asked thickly.

"Aidan. Please... Will the medicine help?"

"I can make no promises, but... I will return tomorrow. If he survives the night, then he will live."

"And will he?!"

Merlin made no response. He was tired of death. "The medicine will help." He walked quickly from the house to the next one. By the time he had finished going around and was headed for Camelot, it was dusk. Merlin dwelled on what he had seen, all the people that would die in the night, and those who could pull through to see another day. People didn't do enough living, and it took something like this to shock them out of their daily routines. The most ordinary of people could live to be great. And some who could have been didn't get the opportunity. They died young. In all of his time spent in Camelot he had seen a great deal of sickness and death, but this was one of the worst cases.

He remembered asking Gaius if he was afraid of catching it, afraid that the illness would spread to him, and he asked Gaius how he could stand to be around the ill. "It's my job," the physician had replied, but Merlin knew that it was more than that. He wanted to help the sick and dying. It was more than just a job, it was who he was. Merlin decided, right then, that he would never again hold back from healing. The pain of Arthur and Gwaine was still fresh, still ached, making him feel like curling up and banishing away the world. But some in the village would feel that pain tonight and Merlin wouldn't wish that on anyone. Lost in his thoughts, he drifted up the dirt path into Camelot, and entered through the main gates. When he reached the Red Lion, he hesitated, his body swaying slightly. A desire to forget everything, to loose his troubles swept upon him, and he hesitantly ventured inside, just for a look around, or perhaps one drink. Once inside, he understood why he was drawn to the grimy place, a familiar figure sat hunched in the corner, an empty tankard in his hands. Merlin's magic had drawn him here, he needed to talk to him. He went, and stood by him. Percival's eyes barely flickered up. "Merlin," He acknowledged with a sigh, gesturing for the warlock to take the seat opposite him. They sat in silence for a while, and Merlin hailed the bar tender, and signalled for one drink. By the look of it, Percival had drunk enough that day.

"Percival," Merlin began, "You..."

Percival looked up at him squarely. "I what?"

"You weren't in the barracks today."

Percival shifted in his seat. "I will be. Soon."

"How... How are you?" Inwardly Merlin cursed himself for saying that. He knew exactly how Percival felt, and it wasn't good. "I mean, I'm worried about you," He corrected.

"I'll survive," Percival grunted, but Merlin could see that his expression had softened, and didn't press him. The barmaid handed him his drink, uncharacteristically subdued. Merlin lifted it, and took a sip. It was weaker than usual, meaning that the barmaid assumed that he would be drinking a lot. Well, he wasn't going to go down that particular-

"It's just... Difficult," Percival admitted, interrupting Merlin's train of thought. "Going there, and knowing that I'll... Never see him again."  
Merlin wasn't sure how to respond, but Percival continued swiftly. "He died believing that he had failed. That Arthur was going to die because of him."

"... He didn't, Arthur didn't die because of Gwaine," Merlin replied his unasked question half truthfully. Without the information from Gwaine, Morgana wouldn't have known where Merlin and Arthur were, but there was no guarantee that Arthur would have lived had they made it to the island. He couldn't find it in himself to blame Gwaine. If anyone, the fault was entirely his own. There was so much that he could have changed. He could have killed Mordred in the beginning. But he was a better person then, and spared more than half a thought on murdering someone.

"That doesn't change anything. Gwaine died thinking that. You didn't hear him scream, you didn't hear his begs for mercy, and I was too late to save him." He swallowed loudly, and blinked.

"You wouldn't have been able to do anything," Merlin said quietly. "You would have been killed."

"I don't... Still."

Merlin drained the last of his drink.

"How are you doing it, Merlin?"

"Hmm? How am I doing what?"

"Smiling. How can you smile when you have lost everything?"

Merlin cocked his head slightly. "I didn't, not at first. Reality is harsh, and I grieved. But I haven't lost everything - not really. I still have Gaius, and Gwen, and you. And I can meet more people. Life moves on."

"Is it worth it?When you know that you could get hurt?"

"Would you erase all of the time that you had known Gwaine, do you wish that you had never met him? The joy out weighs the sadness. And you will see him again."

"Yeah. When I die." He sounded bitter.

"Don't meet him having wasted the rest of your life. He wouldn't want that. But, also, everybody is different. Take your time."

Silence fell again, before Percival finally spoke, his voice quavering. "I will go to training tomorrow. I will fight, for him."

Merlin smiled slightly. It still hurt, and Merlin was fairly sure that the pain would always be there, but maybe, in time, he would learn to deal with it. Chairs scraped as the two men stood up.

"And Merlin? Thank you."

They left the tavern, and walked together into the night.


	5. Different Minds

He got back after Gaius was asleep, and woke after Gaius had left for the council meeting. The Red Fever incident burned on his mind, and he found himself, despite everything, completely worried. It was a struggle not to leap from his bed and bolt down to the village, and he forced himself to not get his hopes up. The whole population concerned him, but above everything, he worried about Aidan, the baby. There was something about him, and he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Either that, or he just didn't want an innocent baby to die. There had been too much death. He fidgeted, ate a fair sized breakfast, grabbed his medicine bag, and left. He would administer the same potion to all of the survivors, it was fairly easy to make. He knew from experience that Red Fever could sometimes settle down on a victim for several weeks, and even after a month of infection they could die. The village had contacted him too late, the entire area would have to be quarantined. If he had caught the disease in it's early stages he would have been able to do more, but as it was he felt helpless. He didn't want people to blame him, he couldn't handle it. No. He must be strong, determined. Somebody for the villagers to look up to and respect, if they were to get through this. And since Gaius was occupied with council meetings and such, he would have to suffice.

The sky was over cast and a cold breeze ruffled his hair as he walked down to the village. Cold. That was good and bad. It helped to minimise illness, but at the same time people could very well freeze to death if they didn't have enough heat. But, as it was only just turning into autumn, Merlin didn't think that he'd have to worry about that just yet. It started to spit with rain as he neared the village, his heart pounding. He was greeted by many villagers, some thanking him, most in fact, and some expressing their worry, telling how the ill hadn't improved. Those who had suffered loss didn't come to him, of course they wouldn't want to see him. He couldn't help it, he headed straight to a particular house where he had held Aidan only yesterday. He almost cried out with joy as he heard the cries of a baby drift towards him from that house. What a relief! His mother saw him from inside, and beckoned him to come in. Merlin remembered that this wasn't over, Aidan might still not survive.

"How was he after I left?" Merlin asked, and the father wrapped his arm around the mother.

"He slept, soundly. He didn't even wake up to cry."

Merlin placed a hand on the babies forehead, and Aidan spluttered. "He is still too warm," He muttered to himself. If anything, his temperature had increased. Merlin had never known a baby that was too tired to cry before. But, there was very little he could do apart from repeating yesterday's actions, which took until almost noon, although he couldn't really tell due to the heavy clouds.

Already worn out from the efforts of the day, he dragged himself through Camelot, and slumped down in one of the chairs, once back in Gaius's rooms. The quiet was strange, he was used to Gaius being here, standing in the corner or reading at the table. It was quiet and empty, and a sudden sense of overpowering loss swept over him. This was it. He had nothing to do anymore. He would just exist then die. Hollow, blank. Just helping Gaius, healing people, or trying. No destiny. He had thought that having no purpose would be a relief, but it was far from that. Maybe he would go back to Ealdor, see his mother. It had been a good few years, and he wondered how she was. Perhaps the small village would work for him now that things had changed. He was at a loss as to what to do. Everybody was busy with important matters, which Merlin couldn't possibly get involved with. King Beyard was deep in negotiations, and Queen Anis was due to arrive tomorrow. So much royalty, and nothing to do. Even Percival still had a job. There was absolutely nothing for Merlin to do, the rounds needed to be completed twice a week, and in between that... Gaius researched, scoured his notes for long forgotten remedies. He enjoyed it, but Merlin wasn't a scientist in the same way. He had picked up some by watching and repetition, but that was all. Without one side, the coin is broken.

He sighed, and rested his head on his arms, focusing on the rough surface of the table. He missed Arthur. He missed having somebody to talk to, to laugh with. He missed being the butt of jokes, hunting, being tired and caked in mud, but alive. Truly living.

The door clattered open and Merlin jerked upright, rubbing his eyes; he didn't want to be seen moping.

Gaius walked in, and regarded his ward. "What are you doing?" He asked suspiciously. Merlin shrugged.

"Nothing," he replied honestly, a bitter tint to his voice. He saw Gaius notice, and cleared his throat. "One of the outer villages... There's been an outbreak of Red Fever."

"Red Fever?! Merlin, are you sure?"

"Yes. I did everything, made the remedy and handed it out."

Gaius nodded slowly. "I have faith in your ability."

How could he still have faith in him?! Arthur, Gwaine, Mordred, Morgana, and many more were dead because of him.

"I'm going to go to Ealdor," He blurted out, and then closed his mouth in surprise. He hadn't meant to say that, he didn't know why he did. Perhaps, deep down, he knew that was what he needed.

"For how long?"

"I don't know." Merlin was thankful that Gaius had accepted it. "I will return, Gaius."

"Then... Go. But remember Merlin, you can't run forever."

"I know." He didn't try to decipher what Gaius had said, he was sick of riddles. He stood up, crossed the room and hugged him tightly. Gaius patted his back.

"Just... Look after yourself."

Merlin drew back. "I will."

Merlin slunk away to pack as Gaius prepared some sort of soup. "So, uh, how are the meetings going?" Merlin called from his room, then carried his now full bag back out into the main living space.

"Well. She will make a good queen. Is there no persuading you to stay? I really thought..."

Thought what? That everything would be forgotten?

"Gaius, I have nothing to do, no reason to be here any more."

"None?"

"I... I will just be a few days. I haven't seen my mother in years. That's all," He countered innocently. Gaius tried out a smile.

"And what about the Red Fever?"

"They have the medicine that I made today, which will suffice until I return. And you do have several apprentices somewhere. In the infirmary, I'm sure one of them could manage while you are caught up in council business."

"Well, if you're certain."

Merlin nodded, shouldering his bag. "I am. I'll see you soon." He walked briskly out of the door, down to the stables, and then a day's hard riding followed. He didn't yet know if he would keep his word and return to Camelot. Perhaps.

Trust Gwaine to find a tavern. Nothing ever changed, did it. Elyan leaned forward, shaking the dice in his hand. Arthur tried not to think about the last time he had played this game. Because Merlin was there. But here, there were four of them. Four too many, and too young. There was Gwaine, as competitive as ever, rubbing his hands together and speculating on what the result would be, and practically showering in ale. Lancelot sat on a stool, surveying the game with a quiet level of concentration. He had explained to Arthur what had really happened between him and Gwen, and Arthur decided that holding a grudge for eternity was a task beyond him. And then Elyan, who died rescuing Gwen. He seemed happy enough, he had met his parents and he knew that Gwen would ultimately join him. Death wasn't a sad event, and Arthur didn't think that he had heard somebody condemn it. But then, he had a reason to feel differently. He might never see Merlin again.

Elyan rolled; two fours. The same, boosting it up to sixteen. Gwaine had a lot to beat, and he made it clear what he thought about it.  
"I shall win this!" He exclaimed loudly, and the people around him laughed. "Nobody can win when they are playing against the mighty Sir Gwaine! Expert swordsman, brilliant strategist-"

"And very modest," Elyan whispered loudly, as Gwaine fell over a stool and erupted into raucous laughter.

"The mighty Sir Gwaine hasn't wielded a sword in how long?" Lancelot mused quietly, smiling slightly.

"Ah, my dear Lancelot, Lancelot, Lancelot, it is like dice. All in the wrists." He tapped his nose and winked, managing to keep a straight face for a few seconds.

"Has anyone been keeping an eye on how much he has drunk?" Arthur asked.

The bar maiden, a pretty woman who died in a fire, walked up to them and offered them another round. "On the house," She jested. Nobody had any money here, people worked because they enjoyed it.

Arthur began to feel decidedly light headed, and before he knew it he was being carried out into the foggy world on the backs of many, along with Elyan. "Arthur, Elyan began, slightly intoxicated. Arthur nodded, and the crowd vanished behind them. They were in a different world, Elyan's, consisting of a forge, a bubbling river and a beautiful wood. Arthur got the feeling that it was a real place, but he didn't like to ask. You world was deeply personal, your very essence set out for all to see.

"I wanted to thank you," Elyan confessed.

"For what?"

"Looking after Gwen, after..."

Arthur's smile vanished. "You... ah, you're welcome."

He couldn''t think about it. He should be distracting himself with pointless creating or mindless chatter. He had been managing until now. Then he could take it no longer, the memory exploded open within him. All that he had left behind, the worry of the kingdom. It was a hard task for Gwen, and he worried over Merlin. He moved, back to his realm, where he barricaded himself inside. Merlin was magic; if he tried loud enough then surely he would be able to hear him.

For the first time since his death he felt a pain, acute and sharp, digging in where the fatal sword did. It burned his insides and he doubled over, falling to his knees, his hands clenched on the floor. He couldn't do this for much longer, he was so alone without his two closest friends. He was never one for patience, and it hurt not to be with them now, to comfort Gwen, to reply to Merlin, speaking face to face. He had bottled it up and kept quiet for too long. He was dead. He couldn't wallow in self pity. But it hurt him, because they were hurting.

"Merlin! Merlin!"


	6. Fly Away Home

He sighed deeply, looking out at the swaying branches and rustling leaves, here most of them had turned completely to copper. It was so peaceful, and he had missed it. The way you could stand for hours without being interrupted, lost in your thoughts and the sound of the forest filling your ears. He had stood here on his first day arriving, when the trees were still a vibrant green. It was separated away from everything else. When in the end he had nowhere else to run he would come here, like times of old. To Ealdor. To his mother, the only thing in all his life that was a constant. She had been glad to see him, of course, and worried. She had heard only rumours about the Battle of Camlann, as it was now widely being called. And she had heard of Arthur's death, and countless other's. She did not ask any questions, but as Merlin was wrapped up in her warm embrace he felt like a child again. He had arrived about a month ago, and spent his time gathering in the harvest with the farmers. It was hard work, but now the last of the grain was stored and the whole village braced itself ready for winter. Such a simple way of living, he had forgotten what it was like. Living off meagre food rations in the winter, berry searching in the woods with Will. Good old Will, dead far before his time. But that was a while ago now, and although he still remembered and it still hurt, he could reflect on their mishaps with a smile on his face.

The night approached and the air cooled quickly, so Merlin went back inside somewhat reluctantly. The small house was lit brightly from the small fire in the hearth, and Hunith sat sewing on a stool. She looked up and grinned as she saw him, lines appearing in the face that Merlin didn't remember seeing before.

"What?" He asked, smiling slightly.

"I just can't get used to this, seeing you walk in through my door after working in the fields all day. Here, I made you some soup."

Merlin gladly accepted the small bowl and started spooning it into his mouth. "Thank you," He said.

"There is no food better than your own mothers, eh?" Her eyes twinkled. Merlin thought back to Gaius's cooking, porridges and stews, chunks of bread and cheese.

"Definitely not," He agreed firmly, brushing all thought of Gaius from his mind.

"Merlin, what is it?"

"Nothing."

"I know you, better than anyone. Something is wrong. Why did you come back here?"

"I missed you."

Hunith laughed gently. "The real reason."

Merlin was silent for a moment. "I... I couldn't stand it in Camelot. I saw them in every corner. I needed to escape."

Honeth's expression changed. "Merlin," she began seriously, "Running away won't help anything. You need to face what happened before it overcomes you."

"You sound like Gaius," Merlin muttered.

"Then Gaius was right," she countered simply.

"I can't" He whispered. "Not just yet. Please. I'm content to stay with you here for the rest of my life."

Hunith resumed her sewing, shaking her head slightly. "What about Gaius? He's been like a father to you."

"Balinor is my father. And you are my mother."

"By blood," She challenged. "It is not up to me to decide what you do, and my door will always be open. And remember, whatever you do, I am proud of you, my son."

Proud of him, no matter what he did, no matter how many lives he couldn't save. Proud of a man who's destiny he had failed miserably. "I'm tired, I think I'll go to bed." He stood up and gently kissed his mother's forehead before going to the other section of the house.

"Sleep well!"

"And you."

Merlin climbed into bed, his back to the fire. He could feel his mother's eyes on him, before she too put away her sewing and went to bed. Merlin waited in the stillness, thinking about everything. Gradually, Hunith started to snore gently. The sound of the trees, vast stretches of nothing but peace. Peace was to be found here, in that way, Ealdor was idyllic.

It came to him in the early hours, in a time where he was half way between sleep and wakefulness. His name, being called urgently, cried out, cutting through the peace.

"Merlin! Merlin!"

Merlin sat bolt upright suddenly, his eyes glowing golden, fire burning in his irises. "Arthur?" He whispered faintly, deeply unsettled and drenched in shock. He listened out, his arms trembling as they held him upright, his body tense, straining, as if struggling would make the voice come back. Was... Was it a dream? Had he drifted off to sleep? And even if he did fall asleep, was that a very real sound that woke him up? If it was his mind it was cruel, and equally harsh if it wasn't. He had seen people after death. Freya, Balinor, and Lancelot, in a way. Why couldn't Arthur find a way to communicate one last time?

The night was still, the moon full and bright, enticing. Merlin slipped out of bed, picking up his jacket as he walked automatically out of the door. He was enveloped in a cool breeze. "Merlin," it seemed to whisper. "Merlin." He let the breeze guide him, nudge him gently in the right direction. He already knew where he was headed, but was sure that he was now at least several days away. He walked, wishing that he had thought to warn Hunith before he left. But dawn never came, the blue and silver night stretching on. In years to come, he still was uncertain as to wether time slowed or he moved more quickly. He suspected the first, for the cool wind that coated his back barely nudged the trees around him, the branches didn't seem to sway, and it was silent. Yet he had never heard so much. The sound of every twig cracking underfoot, every leaf or blade of grass snapping. The sound of his own breathing, his heart beat magnified. The blood flooding through his veins. His eyes still felt as though they were burning, and he could feel his magic flow through him, at last unrestrained, and the sheer reach of it astounding. He could feel it brush against every single tree, tracing the way that air wound around objects.

And then he was there, where it all ended. The lake. He sat down on the ground, over come with realisation. Arthur was gone, and there was nothing he could do about it. He openly wept on the ground, wept for Arthur; he would never see his child born, never watch his heir grow, never even knowing he had one.

"Arthur," He choked out, calming down slightly. "Arthur, Gwen is with child. And I will be there, because you can't. I will look after it, help it, I will go back to Camelot. To do what you can't. Would you want me to look after them? I think you would; you forgave me. You thanked me, after all that I have done! I lied to you. There was so much that I wanted to say, wanted to show you. With my magic and your strength we could've united Albion! We were supposed to - I don't understand! You weren't meant to die when you did. I knew that Mordred would kill you. I was too cowardly to stop him when he was young, to warn you. There are many prophecies, why had that one come to take place, and Albion didn't! Arthur, your death is my fault. And I'm sorry."

He sniffed, rubbing his nose on the back of his sleeve. "I think I'm going mad," He laughed. "I could hear you... You were calling my name. I think it was just a dream, but what if it wasn't? What if that was really you? People can come back, my father did, and I have seen Freya since her death. Is she there? Does she even remember me?" He sighed, shaking his head. "And now I'm talking to thin air." He looked up across the water, scanning the ripples on the surface for a sign, that somebody could hear him. But then logic clicked back into place, and he felt ridiculous. Arthur was completely out of his reach, of course he couldn't hear him.

"The ban against magic is going to be lifted," he remembered suddenly. "Gwen, she worked it out. Far quicker than you did." His smile faded. His words held an echo, of times of jesting and joy, where words merely bounced off the surface. Clotpole, prat. He had lost that simple relationship, fake mockery above a great deal of respect. He was going to have to learn to live without it, despite how much he would miss it. Miss Arthur. Was missing Arthur. Right now, right at that moment.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, and then repeated it more loudly. All was quiet, and completely still. When the first rays of dawn hit the sky he stood up tiredly and left.

He returned to Ealdor three days later, his instinctive and powerful magic lost to him. Perhaps he would be able to harness the power completely. One day. Hunith fussed and worried over him, and he only explained a little, that he had been away lost in thought and had concluded that he would return to Camelot. She kissed him, then hugged him, and sent him on his way with a full stomach and a small smile on his face. He arrived in Camelot the next day, this time prepared. It wasn't going to be easy, he recognised that now. But he would fight through it, persevere, for everyone's sake and in Arthur's name.

On his way, he stopped off at the Red Fever village, remembering a baby who had given him a great deal of worry. Aidan, the infected child. His parents were somewhat dubious at the appearance of Merlin after over a month, but remembered to be grateful and let him in. He held Aidan in his arms. There was something about him that he couldn't quite place, a nagging feeling that their lives were somehow intertwined. Aidan would grow up to be a man of importance, an image of a strong adult with a firm jaw and gleeful eyes flashed before him suddenly. He told nobody, but returned the baby with a slight nod of the head, then left again, for the last final stretch of his journey.

Camelot was the same as he left it; loud, vibrant, busy. Before he knew what was happening he found himself outside of Gaius's chambers. Should he knock? He decided not to, and instead edged open the door, poking his head around. "Hello?" He called tentatively.

"Merlin! I thought..."

Merlin grinned as Gaius pulled him into a hug.

"I thought that you were gone for good!"

"Sorry Gaius. So did I."

"What made you change your mind?"

"Arthur. He wouldn't want me to abandon his wife an unborn child. It's true that I don't have a job, but I'm sure that I'll find something to do."

"Gwen was enquiring after you. She has told the council of her plan to lift the laws against magic. I'm sure that you'll have plenty to do."

"My destiny is gone."

"Perhaps not. Albion still needs uniting."

Merlin hated prophecies.

He went to visit Gwen that evening, after Gaius had fed him up with a massive meal of rich soup and slices upon thick slices of bread and cheese. He knocked on her door, and Sir Leon opened it. "Merlin!" He gasped.

"Merlin?" Gwen asked, as Merlin walked into the room. She was seated at a table, and two places were set with food. "I was just discussing the council meetings with sir Leon."

She had bags under her eyes, Merlin noticed.

"Gaius told me you went to visit Hunith?"

"Yes, that's right."

"Merlin..." Her chair scraped as she stood up and hugged him tightly. "Thank you for coming back. You returned at the perfect time. Tomorrow is the dead line. The council have asked for proof that not all magic users are bad, and you-"

Merlin broke away and looked pointedly at Leon, who smiled faintly. "It's alright Merlin. I know about your magic."

His mouth dropped open, and he turned dumbstruck to Gwen. It was happening, it was really happening. Slowly, he was being released. He wouldn't have to hide any more.

"I hope you don't mind." She bit her lip.

"Mind?" Merlin laughed. "I've waited so long!"

Leon walked closer. "It really was a surprise, but when I thought about it, it made sense. Merlin, I'm sorry that this has only now come to light. I understand why you hid it for so long, you were right to. It is only recently that we have really seen magic for what it is. That old man, at Camlann. He saved us, yet we have hunted him and his kind."

Merlin couldn't express his gratitude in words, and swallowed. "Who else knows?"

"Only I."

"I was... At odds, and needed someone to talk to," Gwen admitted. "And you were in Ealdor, so..."

Guilt swept over him. "I left because I didn't have a purpose here," He blurted, then closed his eyes. He hadn't really meant to say that.

Leon cleared his throat. "I had better get to the barracks, it is my turn to keep night watch, I'm supervising a few of the newer ones. We've had an influx of enthusiastic try outs lately."

Gwen nodded, smiling. "Goodnight!"

Leon closed the door behind him. "Merlin, you will always have a place at Camelot. You are my best friend." She paused. "The court sorcerer," she joked. Merlin smiled.

"I could be that," He reflected. "And what would that job entail?"

"Oh, keeping the peace, killing the wicked men, rescuing people, saving villages." She shrugged. "That sort of thing."

There was a moment of silence, and then they both burst out laughing. "I thought I did that anyway," Merlin said, a glint in his eye.

"Just how many times have you saved our lives without anybody knowing?"

"As me, or as an old man?"

She giggled. "Dragoon, wasn't it? Why that name of all names?!"

"I was under pressure!"

"I remember, you were nearly burnt at the stake. What is it like to be an old man?"

"Everything ached. Seriously, it was horrible. And really tiring."

Gwen was silent for a moment. "You have magic."

Merlin nodded patiently. "All my life."

"Then... Can I see?"

"I can hardly refuse the queen," He teased. "What would you have me do?"

She looked around the room for inspiration. "What can you do?"

"Anything."

Taken aback, Gwen studied him for a moment, then realisation dawned on her, and she playfully slapped his arm.

"Fine," He complied, cupping his hands together. He remembered the crystal cave, where he had seen his father. Balinor's words were lost to him now, so much had happened since then. He remembered how he had appeared in the cave, ghostly, faded around the edges, looking upon him with deep brown eyes. His father had come from beyond the grave to see him.

His eyes glowed golden, and Gwen gasped quietly as he opened his hands, and out darted a butterfly. They watched it flap its brilliant blue wings and move around the room. Gwen seemed to have tears in her eyes.

"Merlin," She said, "I'm so glad you came back."


	7. Half a Year

All those years of waiting and he was still not ready. Not at all. He stood before the round table, his heart pounding. He scanned the eyes of the men and woman, looking for a hint as to their thoughts. This time it was not only knights that sat around the table, but a few elected from the old council, Sir Geoffrey and Gaius being two examples. they both smiled encouragingly, and Merlin wondered just how much Sir Geoffrey had guessed at, with all his learning and books. Percival seemed quite content with the revelation, Merlin suspected that he had come across friendly magic in his past. Then, on Percival's left, Sir Leon. He had been appointed the knights' leader, being the oldest and most experienced. it was he who had formed the new circle of inner knights who he would take with him whenever he left Camelot. Sir Ennis, bright eyed and thoughtful, Breck, talkative and with a dry sense of homour, Rion, level headed and clever, Kalen, a little rash, but young, and a brilliant fighter and, of course, Percival, strong in mind and body. They were all sat around the table, and looked at Merlin with expressions of shock, Ennis and Kalen, who knew Merlin previously, and uncertainty, Breck and Rion.

In his pocket he kept a small vial of the potion that would change him back, just in case proof was needed. And more than one of the council members did seem to be skeptical.

"So you are telling me that you have magic?" Gwen asked, her voice authoritative.

"Yes."

"Can you prove this?"

"What would the council have me do?"

A murmur ran around the table, people shifted in their seats.

"Cure my leg!" An older man shouted out, Gaius shooting him a withering glare. He happened to be treating the man for his leg wound.

"Tell me what I'm thinking," Breck suggested, smirking.

Gwen raised her eyebrows. Was it possible for anybody to read minds? She stood up. "Create life," She challenged. An audible gasp swept through the room, and Merlin struggled to conceal his smile. That simple spell that he had performed for her had really struck a chord within her.

"As you wish. Gewyrc an lif," He said clearly, he hands cupped in front of him, his head tilted back. He wasn't going to hide like this was something he should be ashamed of. He was magic, and magic was him. His father had told him so. This was more natural than breathing. His eyes glowed gold, and he opened his hands. "Life," he said, gazing at the tiny bird in his palm before it flew off. "Is not for me to remove, but to give and conserve."

There was a stunned silence, and Gwen cleared her throat. "I think we can all agree that Merlin has magic." A few men visibly winced at her carefree use of the word.

Lord Mortimer spoke up. "All we have seen of magic is despair. Do none of you remember the Great Purge and the reason for it? One magician is manageable, but it was hundreds roaming free, causing havoc. They were corrupted by their power."

"It was-" Merlin began.

"What do you know? You weren't even born. Innocents were dying, people with no magic were shunned."

"With permission, I would like to speak."

"Permission granted," Leon said swiftly. Here there was no leader, the table was equal, and he did not want Lord Mortimer to do all of the talking.

"Magic is like a sword. Some of you can wield a sword, and some can't. Power corrupts? In your hand you hold a tool which is used to kill. Are you corrupted? Are the knights? No. Power doesn't always corrupt."

"In the majority of cases, it does. The risk is too high, magic can't be controlled like normal crime can." Lord Mortimer smiled slightly, as several seated nodded in agreement.

Sir Geoffrey countered him dismissively. "If there was a way to control it, if somebody who could control the rogues were to appear, say, the great Emrys himself, then you are saying that you will allow the ban to be lifted?"

Mortimer's smile faded. That was exactly what he had said. "Yes," He muttered, holding back his anger.

"I thought Emrys was a myth," Sir Rion, one of the six higher knights, mused quizzically.

"Emrys?" Sir Kalen, another of the six, asked, frowning.

Sir Geoffrey interrupted the confusion. "Emrys is a figure whom the prophets speak of, the greatest warlock who will ever live. Emrys is the one who helped defeat the Saxons at Camlann, he is the one who unite the lands of Albion. He would be able to keep order."

"I am Emrys."

Heads turned once again. Sir Leon laughed. "Merlin, you may have a little magic, but I don't think-"

"No. That is the Druid name for me." The truth emboldened him, gave him strength. "I don't know much about the prophesies, but..."

They eyed him sceptically.

"Is there any evidence for this claim?" Asked Lord Mortimer, biting his cheek.

Everybody swivelled around to look at Sir Geoffrey.

"Oh, certainly, all of the facts point straight towards him. Everything about Emrys is true in Merlin. But, I suppose, you would need to test him before you can be sure that he is capable of snubbing out any rogue sorcery."

"Merlin, you are dismissed," Gwen ordered sternly, her eyes revealing genuine pleasure at they things were working out. It did seem as if the ban would be lifted. A last act, in memory of the king. Merlin inclined his head and left. The moment the great doors behind him swung shut, animated talking sprung up around the table, and he smiled slightly. They would have a lot to talk about.

Somehow, a task was decided. Merlin wasn't sure how he felt about his magic being tested, it felt a little insulting actually. But he dug himself out of his pride and got on with it.

He was faced with a prisoner, who was suspected of murder. "Play along," He thought.

The prisoner was directed to try and escape, and what man, when faced with freedom like that, would refuse? He had no chance, and they both knew it. He shouted spells and his eyes roared, but Merlin easily overcame that. He isolated the man's magic, so that he could strain and shout but not ever reach it. All that had happened had flicked something on inside him. The other half of the coin was no longer there, so his magic had compensated, more vast and powerful than ever before. He could always feel it bubbling under the surface, but now it burned him. He was on fire, and everybody recognised it. They could feel it in the air, the whole of Camelot suddenly felt lighter, happier. So, finally, they relented, and after many months of discussion and deliberation, the ban was lifted.

At first, it was no different than before, but gradually people became accustomed to talking of it freely, grew used to the sight of it, people walking along the street holding heavy crates aloft with their hands raised in front of them.

Merlin was offered and accepted a seat at the round table. As Percival said, it was about time. There was a general meeting once a week, and in between that he had all types of people coming to him, asking him for help, from impossible feats such as raising the dead, to changing the colour of a robe. Some paid him and some didn't, but Merlin wasn't really bothered by that. He was just happy that, at last, he could help them. He made visiting the Scarlet Village, as it was now known, part of his weekly routine, and over saw the ill surge through the weakness and dizzy spells. Aidan had developed a rather bad cough, and was still very small and fragile. The fever had weakened him, possibly forever, and even Merlin could do nothing to change that.

There was joy in the castle as another change took place, royal dresses sent away to be enlarged. Gwen was indeed with child, with Arthur's heir, and they, boy or girl, would be one day crowned. As the months passed, winter came and went, her stomach swelled.

It was late spring, with the flowers in full bloom, and Merlin was tending to Aidan, checking his breathing and giving him his medicine, when a courier burst into the little house, panting.

"The queen..." He gasped, "It is happening, she is giving birth."

Merlin bade a hasty farewell to the little family and hurried back up to Camelot on the horse that the courier had brought for him. There was a weight in the atmosphere as the people remembered Egraine, the fair queen, who died giving birth to Arthur. He thundered through the corridors, and found Gaius and Sir Leon waiting outside of the royal chambers. He could hear Gwen's uneven screaming, they all could.

"How is it looking? Is it any easy birth?" As a helper to the court physician he had helped deliver several times before. A maid rushed in between them, carrying a large pile of towels. She slipped in to Gwen's chambers, a frown on her face.

"The midwife is skilled, but... Merlin, there are complications."

That was exactly the wrong thing to hear, and Sir Leon started pacing, his fists clenched. Merlin felt the blood drain from his face.

"What?!" He asked urgently.

"The baby, it's... It's facing the wrong way."


	8. Crow

"The... The wrong way." That was bad. Very bad, and from Merlin's experience nearly always resulted in the death of the mother, the child, or both.

"How far along is she?" Merlin asked, his mind a blur of thought.

"A few hours left."

They looked each other in the eye, knowing that even if the royal midwife allowed Gaius in, there was nothing that he could do.  
"Will there be...?"

"I'll help you look."

"Where are you going?" Asked Leon sharply as Merlin and Gaius started down the corridor.

"To find a spell that will save them."

"Then... Let me help."

Gaius raised an eyebrow. So far, Leon had only tolerated the presence of magic, he was still under the influence of Uther's reign, after serving him for so long. Old habits were hard to change, but he was trying, and Merlin respected that.

"I... I can't bear this, waiting and doing nothing." He clenched and unclenched his fists, wiping sweaty palms down his front.

Merlin nodded. "Come with me," he said, and they all but ran down to Sir Geoffrey's library. They found him sat at his table, immersed in a book with graphic diagrams and a great deal of the colour red. Merlin quickly looked away from the book, his mind swirling with the possibilities. A flock of crows span just behind his eyes, menacing black against clear blue. A branch stood, upright in the ground, ragged linen that was once white tied to the top, fluttering in the coarse wind. He pushed it away. No. It must not come to that.

"Have you found anything?" Merlin asked, as Leon sat beside the old man, grabbed a book from his table top and started flicking through it.

"It appears that the only solution is to use magic."

"Magic?!" Leon asked, then closed his eyes and steadied his breathing. "I'm sorry," he apologised wearily.

From his desk, Sir Geoffrey of Monmouth spoke. "Merlin, you have the ability to move objects by will alone, you are the only one who will be able to do this."

Merlin laughed a little bitterly. Yes, it was always up to him, and usually he failed miserably. An image of Arthur's face flashed before him, crystal clear, and his resolve strengthened. He would do this, and both Gwen and the child would survive. The pendragon line wouldn't extinguish so easily, he had tried so hard to preserve it. For Arthur, he would do this for him.

A new strength flooding him he stood straight.  
"I will," he said, his voice sounding distant. "And they will both pull through. I promise."

The old man smiled. "I have every faith in you."

Merlin was glad that somebody did - Leon didn't look so certain. "I'll keep looking," He said, his voice shaking. Merlin smiled reassuringly, although he felt like running away himself.

As he made his way back to Gwen's chambers, he felt oddly light, almost disorientated. His magic was almost tangible, giving off a soft, golden aura. A kitchen boy saw him and gave out a cry of alarm, dropping a tray of food. Oh, he would be in trouble with the cook.

The guards seemed not to notice him, so he walked through the door into Gwen's chambers. The midwife looked up prepared to admonish him, but her mouth merely dropped open in shock. "I can help," Merlin smiled gently, and she mutely nodded, stricken. He moved closer to Gwen who looked at him, eyes wide.

"Mer... Merlin? What are you?"

"It's going to be fine." He placed his hands on the swell, he could feel the baby shift in reaction to his magic.  
'Ahwierf,' he thought, feeling his magic furl down his arms to his hands and through his finger tips.  
Gwen screamed as the baby rolled around inside of her, she clawed at the mattress with her hands.

The midwife looked up at him, astonished. "The baby... It has moved."  
With one last look at Gwen, Merlin made to leave, but she grabbed his arm.

"Don't go," She pleaded. "I can't do this."

He slipped his hand into hers, covered in sweat. "Yes you can Gwen."

She laughed slightly, meeting his eyes. "You are still using magic," she commented.

"I am keeping you safe."

For some reason unknown to Merlin, she seemed to find that somewhat reassuring. Suddenly, she screamed again, crushing Merlin's hand in hers. Then, the pain lessened, and she panted heavily. "Deep breaths," The midwife instructed, glaring at Merlin. He could hear her muttering threats directed towards him. Gwen's fingers twitched slightly, and Merlin prepared himself for the long night ahead of him.

It was early in the morning, and the castle was deathly still. A banner rippled gently, swaying in the pale hue of dawn. A small cry broke the silence. Guards stiffened, sitting upright and listening intently. They were uncertain of the fate of their Queen.  
Merlin stumbled out of the room exhausted, and Leon placed his hands on his shoulders. "Is...?"

Merlin beamed. "It's a boy! Mother and son are fine and well."

"You can come in now!" Gwen called weakly, a thick tired streak running through her voice.

Leon didn't hesitate, and Merlin leant against the corridor wall, tilting his head upwards so that his neck stretched. He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the pounding of his head. He focused on the baby. Young, healthy, crying the way that all babies do. It was Arthur's son, such a great weight on someone so young. 'Such a great destiny for one so small.' Hadn't Killgarragh said something along those lines to him before? How things turned around.

He let his mind wander to nothing in the corridor, revelling in the sudden peace that had enveloped the castle as Camelot let out a weary sigh of relief. Everything was still, all seemed right. If only Arthur could be here to see it all, to see his son, born healthy and bawling.

A thought crossed his mind. A foolish thought. He hadn't been there in several months, Arthur wasn't there, he was dead. Still, a small part of him reasoned that Arthur should be told, despite not being able to hear.  
Oh, how he missed him. His other side ripped cruelly away before his time. He didn't feel himself any more, there was a piece of him missing. He found himself automatically walking out of the castle, his weariness numbed with a purpose. He was going to see his King.

The people recognised him, of course they did. The Great Merlin, The Court Sorcerer, with flame in his eyes and wings on his feet; they knew his name and his face, there was not one who didn't. The great city was just about stirring. Voices called out, "Hush! It is Merlin!" The sound of children stifling giggles. Others appraised him stonily and with respect.  
"What news of the Queen?" One asked warily. Merlin looked up, at the people waiting at windows, listening in side streets. He smiled broadly. "The Queen has given birth to a son!"  
They joined in his laughter, and a great cloud was lifted. Their precious King Arthur had not faded entirely.

Peals of joy led the way through Camelot, whispers caught on the wind, lifting higher and higher, surely to be caught by eternity. Arthur's son lives! Without a second thought, Merlin was there, by the lake side. The dawn lit the water in hues of pink and gold, causing a vibrancy in the trees, and a warm breeze rippled over the surface. For the first time, Merlin appreciated just how beautiful Arthur's resting place was. Fit for a king, the Great King, Arthur Pendragon. Yet even if he were no king, if he had been born as a slave, he would deserve no less. Having lived without the weight of the world on his shoulders, would his death have been lighter? He could have lived to see his twenty grandchildren, could have married Gwen earlier on.  
Or him and Gwen might never have met. He could have been born in Ealdor, like Will, growing up with the knowledge of Merlin's magic. Running away from the invisible monsters together.

He tilted his head to the sky and sighed longingly. "Hello Arthur."

He had forgotten Will. Never having known him properly to begin with, this wasn't exactly a surprise.  
"They say you can see him," He said, and Arthur looked at him squarely.

"Who say?"

Will shrugged. "People. But that isn't important. The important thing is, can you?"

Arthur struggled to find words. "Who are you?" He asked suspiciously.

"Do you not remember me? My name is Will."

Arthur's eyes widened. "Merlin's friend? The one who... Died. So, we meet again."

"Can you see him? Merlin?"

"Sometimes. Not recently. Or perhaps recently. Time here, it..."

Will frowned slightly. "You feel out of place here. You won't be staying."

"I... What?"

"Just an observation," he smiled slightly.

The world around Arthur began to fade. "It's..."

And he was in the white mists again, with a familiar figure standing before him tilting his head upwards.  
"Merlin," Arthur finished.

"Hello Arthur," Merlin uttered, seemingly as a reply.

Ah, it was so good to see him again, he hadn't fully realised how badly he missed his manservant. He seemed to be more well than since last they spoke.

"This feels silly," Merlin muttered to himself. "Like I'm talking to thin air. Why should you be able to hear me?" He sighed deeply. "Arthur? Gwen had the baby. Or... Did you know she was with child?"

What.  
With... With child?! No, that couldn't... It could... He didn't... This was... Good! Unexpected, but... It was everything that he had hoped for. Gwen would not be left alone, a part of him was left with her, with Merlin and Camelot.

He was speechless. He had a child, the Pendragon line wouldn't die out so easily. "A boy or a girl?" Arthur blurted, despite knowing that Merlin couldn't hear him.

"She hasn't chosen the name yet, but it's a boy. You have a son," Merlin laughed.

A wave of longing washed over Arthur, and he buckled slightly. His son. His son would grow up, train, become King one day, and Arthur could witness none of it. He could picture the boy, beautiful certainly, after his mother, learning how to fight, how to wield a sword, how to plan a battle, how to rule.  
He thought about the world he had left for his son. Camelot was prosperous, magic was outlawed, the Saxons defeated. What troubles would face his son?  
His son. His son.  
He had a son.


	9. Breathe

The naming ceremony took place seven days after the birth. "What are you going to call him?" Merlin asked.

Gwen smiled. "I wanted to follow the tradition. Uthur, Arthur, and..." She smiled, gazed down at the baby in her arms. "Archer."

"No one shall surpass his skill with a bow," Merlin promised her. Baby Archer gurgled, and rubbed his balled fists against his face. 

 

The seven days passed in a haze. Gaius pronounced that Archer was healthy, and in private told Merlin that the safety of the kingdom rested on the safety of Archer. If something were to befall him, then there would be no heir to the throne, leading to anarchy and, most probably war. Merlin shook his head. He had vowed. To take care of Archer, for Arthur's sake. Nothing at all would happen to him, he had the court sorcerer himself protecting him.

The night before the naming ceremony, Merlin could sleep. He heard voices in his head, calling him. "Emrys... Emrys..."

He recognised the call. "Druids," he thought, somewhat grumpily. Why couldn't they just call him during the day? He sighed, rubbing his eyes and climbing out of bed. "What is it?" He thought to them.

"We have a gift for the prince."

Merlin grabbed his satchel and followed the voices to the source, the outskirts of Camelot. The leader of the group, Iseldir, inclined his head. "Thank you for coming, Emrys."

Merlin nodded respectfully. "You spoke of a gift?"

"Follow us."

They led him at a swift place deep into the woods. The trees grew closer, the undergrowth became more thick and vicious. "How far are we going?" Merlin asked, acutely aware thy the naming ceremony was mere hours away, and as Gwen's longest friend and the court sorcerer, he should probably make an effort to turn up. For Arthur, as well.

"We are nearly there now."

At last, in the deepest and darkest part of the forest, Iseldir and the other druids stopped. "Here." 

Merlin looked around them, bewildered. He saw it straight away, a small, red flower, glowing brightly."The magic is most powerful at night," Merlin realised. "What does it do?"

"The guardian of the prince must pick it at night, create a potion from the entire plant, mixed with lavender and warm milk, and feed it to the child and yourself, half to each.. A connection will then be forged, enable the guardian to protect and care for the child to the beyond their normal ability."

"Shouldn't Gwen do this then?"

Iseldir shifted his balance between his feet. "To bring this to the Queen makes little sense. Even with this, she would still be less able than you. Giving it to you will increase your power."  
Merlin saw his logic, and agreed. He knelt down, his eyes level with the flower. It seemed to pulsate, something more than fire, more than plant, more than light. It was drawing out to him, the petals unfurling slightly. "Will it taste disgusting?" He asked without thinking, then winced at himself. Emrys, the Court Sorcerer wasn't supposed to ask things like that, he didn't think. 

Iseldir bit the inside of his cheek to prevent himself smiling. "I'm sure you will have eaten worse," He said in a remarkably restrained manner, Merlin reached out and deftly plucked the flower at the stem, near the soil.

"Lavender and warm milk," a small woman to Iseldir's right reminded. His wife maybe? Iseldir didn't strike Merlin as a family man. Still, neither particularly did the small woman. Or any druids for that matter - they had always seemed to Merlin to be a solitary, strong, silent people.

"Is that enough?" He stood up and turned around, and jumped. They had vanished, into thin air, it appeared. Unconsciously he brushed the hand that held the flower against his chest. He was going to die young if they kept on doing that.

* * * * * *

Iseldir was right; Merlin had definitely tasted worse. But Archer? He cried his way through the process, although Merlin had made sure to beat the mixture into a thin liquid. It was a few hours before the Naming Ceremony, and Merlin wasn't sure the baby would have finished crying by then. He bent his head down to the baby's and whispered, "Look, I'm sorry, but this will look after you, for your Mother and Father, and I know it has a funny taste, but you have to drink it."

Archer balled his fists and squawked in response. Merlin sighed and slowly poured the potion into his mouth anyway. "I had to drink mine, so you can manage too." He stuck out his tongue at Archer, and stroked the babe's forehead with his thumb. "To. The. Last.....Drop. There! All gone!"

"Merlin?!"Merlin dropped the cup and whirled around, Archer still in his left arm, hiccupping. "What are you doing? Where's nurse?"

"I... Around somewhere? And... Uh... Gaius told..." Gwen tilted her head down and raised her eyebrows, taking hold of her child. Merlin smiled sheepishly. "Sorry. Old habits. It's a gift of protection from the druids."

"The... Are you sure? Will he be okay? No, no I trust you Merlin. The druids don't mean him any harm...?"

"None. Archer is born at a good time. The Prince of Harmony, while the land is, largely, at peace. Born to continue that peace." Merlin shook himself slightly. He must stop spouting these guesses, prophecies, whatever you could call them. It unnerved him, to hear words come tumbling from his mouth that weren't entirely his.

Gwen kissed her son on the cheek. "Oh that your father could see you," She whispered.

* * * *

She rose from her throne dressed in white and holding him, Archer wrapped in a cloth of gold. "Archer Pendragon."  
The crowd repeated that, the sound rumbling and resonating through the hall.

"Healthy, next in line. Until he is old enough, if I am unable, Sir Leon shall rule in his place. Archer son of Arthur."  
Sir Leon?! Merlin tried to hide his grin. He had sensed the two of them growing closer. Well, suspected. He felt slightly angry. Less than a year since the Battle of Camlann. He thought about the lake. The nights he'd spent out of his mind, wandering through the forest until he found Percival.   
Gwaine. Arthur. He could remember their faces, scarred into his mind.  
No. Don't think about that.  
Breathe deeply.  
Feel the cool air on your cheeks, the hard floor beneath your feet, your eyelashes on your cheeks, the soft scarf around your neck.  
Focus on the alive.  
Gaius.  
Honeth.  
Gwen.  
Percival.  
Archer.  
Breathe.

Alive.

Breathe.


End file.
